


Reclassing

by DigitBuster



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Chapter 1 can be seen as romantic if you want, Friendship, Gen, I am very slow ;;, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitBuster/pseuds/DigitBuster
Summary: Short stories showing each traveler take a secondary class for the first time. Very nice, wholesome times ahead
Relationships: Cyrus Albright & Therion, Primrose Azelhart & Ophilia Clement
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. The Cleric

Light magic is warm. 

The fact shouldn’t surprise her. Primrose knows that different schools of magic felt different on one’s fingers. Fire magic blazed hot, ice magic chilled cold, lightning magic sent tingles all over your hands, wind magic… well, she never read about wind magic. She would have to ask Tressa.

But the light magic that danced on her fingers now was warm. It was a gentle warmth, reassuring and encouraging. Primrose didn’t know magic could feel like that.

“Yes, just like that,” comes Ophilia’s voice. She’s standing next to her, magic sparkling on her own fingertips. “You’re a natural at magic, Primrose.”

Primrose turns to her, matching Ophilia’s gentle smile with one of her own. She then looks back at her hand, light magic lazily swirling around it. Was this the warmth Ophilia felt every time she cast? 

The dancer (now cleric) pushes the magic off her fingers and into the cold air of Stillsnow, watching as it dissipates into the air with a faint glimmer. She smiles. That was something she was familiar with.

“I expected difficulties with this,” Primrose says. “But it’s not that different from dark magic after all.”

From the corner of her eye, Ophilia blinks. The magic on the cleric’s fingers dies down and fizzles out before she reaches towards her hair. She then tucks a strand behind her ear, looking at Primrose with a quizzical glance. How cute.

“It looks like you have a question.” Primrose turns to her completely, unable to help the teasing smile playing on her lips. “You can ask. I won’t bite.”

Ophilia blinks again, her eyes widening now that she’s been caught. Her hand falls from her hair, coming to clasp the other in front of her abdomen.

“Well… truthfully, I haven’t heard much about dark magic, save for some rumors,” she admits quietly. “We were discouraged from talking about it in the cathedral as well.”

It’s understandable. Dark magic  _ did  _ have a bit of a reputation. It was that reputation that had pushed her to learn it in the first place, but Primrose keeps that thought to herself.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve been very curious about it.” Her hand returns to her hair, running through it nervously. “You wield it so gracefully, and… well I don’t want to be a bother, and…”

Primrose chuckles, causing the younger woman to stop and look up at her. The dancer takes a step closer, gently patting Ophilia’s shoulder.

“You needn’t be so nervous, Ophilia. You just wish to know more, do you not?”

There’s a small pause. Then the cleric nods, her bashful smile accompanied by a subtle flush on her cheeks. The sight is simply adorable.

“Dark magic is like any other magic, in truth. It’s another tool, like a sword or an axe would be.” Primrose starts, lifting her hand. Dark magic sparks to life in her palm, eliciting a small “oh!” from Ophilia. “Its reputation is mainly due to those who choose to wield it. But it has no inherent evil.”

Ophilia nods, gaze transfixed on the dancer’s palm. There was a slight change in her expression, something more contemplative. Primrose figures she was trying to reconcile something she had been brought up with. Dark magic’s reputation varied from town to town, but she can’t imagine people in Flamesgrace being neutral about its usage.

“Light magic is warm. It’s very gentle, and gives a small encouraging push.” Primrose looks at her palm. “What would you say you need to have in order to use light magic?”

Ophilia hums, her hand coming to her chin. “I would say… faith. Not particularly in Aelfric, but faith all the same.”

Primrose nods, smiling wistfully. “I would say so too. Faith… faith in anything.”

She pauses, looking at the dark magic swimming over her palms. She held her faith like a shield, as her house proclaimed. Yet at times, she struggled to uphold it. She must have faith in something if light magic came to her as easily as it did. But what? It frustrated her not knowing.

“Dark magic,” she continues, pushing those thoughts to the side. “Feels cool. And yet, its push is forceful. It drives you, and in turn, requires your passion.”

Primrose pushes the magic off her fingers lazily, watching it swirl into the air before fading like smoke. “It’s an exhilarating sort of magic that many people are drawn to at least once.”

“I see…” Ophilia stares into the air where the dark magic once was. “But the way you described them makes it seem like they’re still very different…?”

“I know.” The dancer brings her hands behind her back, staring into the same air. “They seem very different on the surface, don’t they?”

Now Ophilia was staring at her. Her brown eyes looked at Primrose expectantly, a subtle curiosity radiating from her being. Primrose could have chuckled. This cleric and her mannerisms were simply too adorable.

“But a nudge in the right direction… a comforting familiarity driving your actions… requiring that you believe in something, that you strive for something…” Primrose turns to Ophilia with a gentle smile. “It can apply to both, can it not?”

Realization flashes on the blonde’s face, her mouth forming a small “o” before her gloved hand goes to cover it. Primrose can’t help her laughter this time around.

“Oh, Primrose! Please be kind to me,” Ophilia murmurs, another flush settling on her cheeks. “I’ll admit, I feel very silly for not seeing it sooner.”

“I’m not teasing you, dear,” Primrose replies. But oh, she wanted to so badly seeing how flustered Ophilia had already gotten. “You’re just very endearing.”

The cleric pouts in response. Primrose laughs again, holding out her hand. “Come, hold my hand.”

“Why?” Despite asking, Ophilia dutifully does as she’s told.

“An apology.” Magic once again surrounds Primrose’s hand, moving gently to crawl over Ophilia’s. The cleric gasps in surprise before smiling that pretty little smile she tends to show when she’s pleased with something. “Did it work? Am I forgiven?”

“Yes, you are forgiven,” Ophilia replies playfully. She then looks down to their hands, smile softening. “It truly does feel cool. What a soothing sensation…”

There’s a moment of silence between them, hands locked together. Then Ophilia looks back up to Primrose, warmth behind her eyes and smile.

“It’s lovely. Thank you for showing me this, Primrose.”

All the dancer could do was smile back, gently squeezing Ophilia’s hand on her own.

“Think nothing of it, Ophilia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* hiya. me again.
> 
> This time we're looking at reclasses! I feel like most of these will be on the short side since they're little one off things. I'm going in OCTOPATH order and basing the character choice on how I played the game the first time.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!


	2. The Scholar

“I’m not learning magic from you, Professor.”

Blue eyes widen, and the scholar clears his throat.

“Why, Therion,” he starts. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“Yeah. And I’ve learned to stop you before you start,” the thief bites back. “I’m not learning magic from you.”

Cyrus stares at him, utterly baffled. “How did you know I intended to teach you?”

“It’s written all over your face.” Therion gestures toward the other man. “That, and the minute I decided to use this artifact you’ve been staring at me when you think I’m not looking.”

Cyrus stutters a bit, a light flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Therion only rolls his eyes. The man could do whatever he wanted, but if it meant he was going to follow Therion around and give him a headache, he’d have to pass.

“Now, just wait a moment Therion,” Cyrus says. “I do believe we can come to some sort of agreement, can we not?”

The thief gives him a half lidded look.

“There’s no need to be so dismissive.”

“Yeah? Why not?” Therion folds his arms. “I know your habits, and I know that you’ll be talking forever if I let you teach me.”

Cyrus’ eyes widen. He then huffs defensively, mouth pulling downwards into a small frown. 

“I can assure you, if you’d rather I not talk during lessons, I can manage,” he replies, a slight indignant edge to his voice.

“I don’t  _ need  _ your help learning, Professor.” It wasn’t entirely true. Even though the artifacts they found did seem to come with a natural affinity for whichever member of the group they were imitating (It seemed like an odd coincidence that each one was in line with their own abilities), it wasn’t perfect. Therion could do fire magic no problem, and finally being able to unleash a blaze wider than what he’s usually capable of was certainly a perk he enjoyed. But he still struggled grasping the other two elemental schools that this artifact came with. The other two elements that Cyrus was all too familiar with. “I can manage on my own.”

“While I don’t  _ doubt  _ that, surely there is something I can assist you with. I know lighting and ice don’t come naturally to you,” Cyrus insists. Therion frowns. “H’aanit and Alfyn would make suitable teachers for both, yes, but the wide range application is a specialty of mine and-”

“Professor.”

Cyrus cuts himself off. Realization flashes on his face before he chuckles sheepishly.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to prattle on.”

Therion resists the urge to comment.

“But I  _ can  _ be of assistance to you, Therion. And I can do so with brevity, I believe.”

Therion stares. Cyrus was the exact opposite of brevity. Therion can count the moments where he was succinct with his words on one hand.

“Prove it.”

Cyrus blinks.

“Prove it,” Therion says again. “Explain ice magic to me.”

Cyrus stares at him, brow slightly furrowed. He could tell the scholar was thinking, probably trying to find a way to explain whatever mechanics he could without diving into an hour long lecture.

He then raises his arm and points past Therion. The thief raises a brow, looking over his shoulder only to find the plains of the Flatlands behind him. He turns back to Cyrus.

“There,” Cyrus says. “I want you to cast there.”

Therion’s eyes narrow. It wasn’t exactly help, but he knew better than to be completely doubtful. Despite his airheadedness, Cyrus  _ was  _ a teacher. He probably already had something in mind. So the thief (now scholar) raises his hand nonchalantly, pointing it in the direction Cyrus instructed, and summons ice magic with all he could muster.

It’s not pathetic, but it’s obvious it isn’t his strong suit. Ice does begin to gather in one place, but it quickly shatters and scatters to the wind. Therion sucks his teeth with a shake of his head, turning to Cyrus and gesturing towards his handiwork. Cyrus only stares in front of them, his sights occasionally flickering back to Therion and scanning him before returning. Again, he was thinking. And he has to admit, without the endless chatter to fill the silence, Therion found he wasn’t as annoyed as he’d usually be.

“How are you casting?” Cyrus finally asks, turning his full attention to Therion.

“Huh?”

“What do you think about when you cast?”

Therion furrows his brow. “What kind of question is that?”

“Don’t be difficult. Just tell me what you think when you try to cast ice magic.”

He sighs. He guesses it’s a fair question to ask for someone who knew as much as Cyrus.

“I’m thinking… about how I just want it to come out,” Therion begins. “I want it out, and I want it to spread.” 

“I see,” Cyrus hums. “When you cast fire magic, do you think the same way?”

“Yeah.” Therion clicks his tongue. “If you interrogate me, I’m not counting it as brevity.”

He expected a shocked look from the other man, but he doesn’t get it. Instead he gets a sly smile. “You certainly have no faith in me.”

Therion could only smirk at that.

“I’m only asking because that sort of thinking  _ would  _ work for fire, but ice is a different matter.” The scholar walks next to Therion, holding his hand out in the direction he pointed to earlier. “Fire spreads very easily. You’re already familiar with it and its properties, so I won’t go into detail here.”

His fingers twitch, and in an instant a small clump of ice forms in front of them. It grows quickly, jutting out and creating several more clumps of ice around it. Soon those clumps grow and form clumps of their own, and before they knew it, there was a small gathering of ice pillars standing tall before them.

“Ice needs to gather first,” Cyrus explains. “After it does, it then will be able to spread.”

Therion nods. It made sense. Fire was quick to spread, as Cyrus said, so he hadn’t really needed to think about trying to expand its range. But ice  _ was  _ different. It needed certain temperatures to even form, for starters. And while he’s seen people cast ice magic in quick bursts, he had always caught a glimpse of ice forming before it took the form the caster desired. He’s not sure if the fundamentals would come to him with this artifact, since Cyrus exclusively casts to cover large areas. These things were so mysterious anyway and...

...And Cyrus wasn’t talking.

Therion looks back to the other man. He was simply staring back at him, expression neutral. 

“That’s it?”

“That is all.”

“You got nothing else to say?”

That earns Therion a smirk. “You’ve asked me to keep my instructions short.”

Therion blinks. Then, despite himself, he smirks back. So Cyrus  _ was  _ capable of listening to instructions.

The thief holds his hand out in front of him, sparing Cyrus a glance to let him know he was ready. The older man snaps his fingers, his own ice pillars crumbling to dust and flying every which way in the wind. With his way now clear, Therion flexes his fingers as he focuses on the spot in front of them. Cyrus’ explanation had been clear. All he had to do was gather the ice in one spot, and then let it go.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, trying to recapture the feeling he did all those years ago. When he learned how to cast fire for the first time, he hadn’t looked. He was too scared to. He wasn’t scared now, ice wasn’t as out of control as a blaze was. But he found it helped. And during battles, he hadn’t really had the chance to go through the motions like he was now.

A sudden chill bites at his palm, causing his eyes to fly open. Magic swirls around his palm, dancing up to his fingers, before shooting out in a spot in front of him. Therion steadies his breathing, watching as the ice begins to gather in chunks and spread unevenly across the grass in the immediate vicinity. The pillars that began to form weren’t as neat as Cyrus’, nor were they as big, but it was the best attempt Therion had done by far. And again, despite himself, he felt his lips pulling up into a smile.

Before he could get used to his job well done, however, the pillars begin to crack. Therion continues to smile, watching as his handiwork breaks apart and litters the ground with frozen remains. He knew it was going to happen, but he can’t find it in himself to be disappointed. Now that he’s gotten the philosophy down, he’s sure he can do better next time. He lets out a small sigh of satisfaction, turning to address Cyrus. To his surprise, the other man is smiling at him.

“...Well. I can see you have something to say.” Therion rolls his hand with a shake of his head. “Go on.”

“I’d like to know how I did, if it would be alright.”

Therion snorts. “I gotta admit, you did better than I expected.”

“Excellent.” Cyrus smiles wider, and Therion couldn’t help but feel some sort of pit in his stomach. The familiarity… was something he wouldn’t be getting used to any time soon. “I could provide further instruction just like this, if you desired.”

It would be nice. Cyrus proved himself capable of shutting up and giving clear explanations without going into an extensive lecture. Still, the idea of being watched as he taught himself…

“...I’ll have to pass on that.”

Cyrus visibly deflates.

“But asking you for advice here or there wouldn’t hurt.”

And just like that, he perks up again. “Why, I’m glad you think so!”

Therion snorts a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Now give me some more advice, Professor. I wanna get it bigger.”

“Of course, my good man.” He blinks. “How much verbosity would you prefer?”

“Not a lot, but maybe something a little more detailed.”

“Ah, of course.” With a smile he turns his palm upwards. “By my observation, you’re already getting a grip on how gathering works. So by that line of thought, might I suggest…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again. This one's been sitting in my drafts for a while.
> 
> Writing from Therion's pov hurts me, he's so mean, haha.
> 
> Interestingly, he calls Cyrus "Professor" in eng but just his name in jpn... the eng voiceclips might say "Cyrus" too but I have no way to check. I jusr take it as him calling Cyrus "Professor" in a mean/sarcastic way before just switching to his name later.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this chapter!


End file.
